


The exception

by dab



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 19:37:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18198461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dab/pseuds/dab
Summary: Mitchell had tried to be good. He really had. But Anders brought out the worst in most people, and Mitchell was no exception. Or was he?





	The exception

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work I publish within the Mitchers/Britchell fandom. I’ve been lurking for a year or so and finally decided to post one of my stories. This is a prompt fill for the GatheringFiKi Spring FRE 2019. The prompt is: 38. “Keep sweet-talking and this could go a whole new direction.” Enjoy!

Mitchell hadn’t enjoyed sex in a long time.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He had enjoyed sex. Of course he had. He was an adult male. But he hadn’t enjoyed _just_ sex in a long time. It was always combined with blood, feeding, _hunger_.

There had of course been some instances in which love had been involved. That had made sex easier, less messy, less _deadly_. But sex without killing required emotional investment. And emotional investment always resulted in hurt and loss and.. it was just something he didn’t want any longer.

He had therefore made a resolution a few months ago, just before he had arrived in New Zealand. He had made the totally realistic and reasonable resolution to remain solitary and not form any attachments to anybody, ever again. And since he didn’t want to kill anymore either, he had added ‘not feeding’ and ‘not having sex’ to his list as well.

This three-point list, which he actually carried around with him as a physical reminder, had kept him on the straight and narrow for the past few months. He had resisted temptation on a multitude of occasions: he had avoided the nice colleague who had asked him to go for a beer sometime and he had refused one or two women who had approached him for either a date or a shag. He had even walked away from somebody who had been bleeding due to a bar fight.

He had been _good_. A good, (pretending to be) human citizen of Auckland on a long streak of good behavior. This had given him to confidence to enter the bar tonight in which, unbeknownst to him, his resolutions would be going down the drain within half an hour of stepping through the door.

At first, there had been no problems. He had ordered a drink, had found a nice corner to sit and had enjoyed the music and people around him. Even when he’d made eye contact with the handsome man across the room and had raised one eyebrow in response to the wink that had been sent his way, he’d had no idea that it would break his _good_ streak.   

This man, _Anders_ , had come up to his table then, carrying a few drinks for them to share, and he had refused to leave again. Mitchell hadn’t wanted him to leave either. He had been drawn in by the blue eyes, the confident smirk, the arrogance and the complete conviction that they would be leaving together later that evening. Mitchell had of course denied it, he would not leave with anybody. But Anders had only smiled in response and had continued to offer more stories, compliments, and rude innuendos throughout the evening.

And as the evening had progressed, Anders had eroded Mitchell’s resolve down to nothing. The blonde man had given a reasonable retort to each of Mitchell’s objections. Anders was a master with words, there was no denying, and he had spun Mitchell’s doubts into desire and his reluctance into yearning.

Mitchell’s mind had started working _with_ Anders instead of against him. It had been so long since he had enjoyed the company of anybody. He hadn’t fed or fucked ever since he had decided to come to New Zealand and start over. He had been so good. He deserved a reward, he had told himself. And he had vaguely recognized that the monster was taking over. That a reward should never consist of somebody else’s life. But his willpower had been nonexistent at that point and he had gladly let himself be sweet-talked by the charming man sitting next to him.

Anders had been oblivious to the danger and the fact that he had been talking himself into an early grave. Mitchell _had_ recognized this and had managed to push one, albeit vague, warning past the monster’s lips.  

“Keep sweet-talking and this could go a whole new direction.”

But it had fallen on deaf ears since Anders had taken it as a sexual challenge, which was the type of challenge that he was clearly unable to walk away from.  

So Mitchell had resigned himself to Anders’ eminent death when he had agreed to go home with him. He had first decided to kill him on the way to the apartment. In an alley somewhere. It had been a good idea and would have been less conspicuous. But when they had passed a suitable dark alley, he had been distracted by Anders’ shapely arse. He had then decided it would be a waste not to at least cop a feel before he would inevitably drain him of his blood. And so they had continued to walk into the direction of Anders’ flat.

After the opportunity at the alley had passed, he had resolved to bite just after they had entered the apartment. Maybe in the kitchen. Lots of tiles, easy to clean. But the kiss he had received when the door had closed behind them had made him change his mind. Back in the day, he had cleaned up entire houses with multiple bodies in them. He could handle one bedroom. And so he had found himself inside Anders’ bedroom, hastily undressing both himself and the shorter man before him.

The only reason he had conceded to be on the bottom had been to grant Anders his dying wish. Even if Anders himself hadn’t been aware that it was. He had been on his back on Anders’ bed before long, with Anders hovering above him, _inside_ him. He had started to feel so deliriously good that he just didn’t know what to do with himself.

Even now, minutes after Anders had entered his body, he still couldn’t handle the sensory overload and felt completely at Anders’ mercy. Which was ridiculous, since Anders would be at _his_ mercy before long. Because feeling good meant craving blood.  

He predicted the bloodlust to set in within a few moments. And as he watched Anders exert himself on top of him, he expected his eyes to bleed to black, his fangs to descend and his need to bite to appear. While this man, _Anders_ , wrapped Mitchell’s legs around his torso, pounded Mitchell’s prostate with his dick and jerked Mitchell’s cock with his hand, Mitchell was counting down to his death.

Any minute now… Yes, his fangs would appear right about…. Now!

But they didn’t. His eyes kept their brown color, his teeth were still blunt and his mouth only opened to praise the man on top of him.

“Oh sweet jesus, god, please.” Mitchell groaned.

“Is this the direction you were expecting it to go? Or should I expect a turn of events?” Anders was referring to his half-arsed warning earlier that evening.

The direction he had expected it to go was death. Mitchell’s eyes landed on Anders’ pulse point. He saw his heartbeat and knew where to insert his fangs to get the most blood in the least amount of time. But he just.. didn’t feel like it. He had a fleeting thought on how this was even _possible_. But it was quickly eradicated when Anders’ cock hit the perfect spot three times in a row.

“Just… don’t stop.” Mitchell managed to say between harsh breaths and choked-off moans.

Mitchell couldn’t remember ever feeling so good. It was better than blood. Blood was a compulsion, something that his body needed to survive and thrive. But _this_. _This_ was something he consciously _wanted_. He _wanted_ to lay beneath Anders, he _wanted_ to feel what he was feeling now. It was pure and wholesome and _human_.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears escaping them. Sex hadn’t even felt like this when he had been in love. There had always been a monster to keep at bay. But that feeling was gone now. It was just him, raw and exposed and loving every second of it.

Anders thankfully didn’t comment on the tears. He seemed to be more focused on his lips, Mitchell noted when he opened his eyes again. Mitchell’s lips and the words that had been sporadically escaping them. It was mostly curses and praises in Gaelic, a language that Anders had probably never heard before.

Mitchell did not have enough brain capacity left to think too much about it, though. He was too close, high-strung, naked, pure, and lost. Completely lost in the sensations.

It didn’t take long for both of them to reach their climax after that. Mitchell tightened his legs around Anders’ body and gripped his own hair, an almost-sob escaping his throat while he closed his eyes, spurting cum between their sweaty bodies. Anders followed soon after, resting his forehead on Mitchell’s chest and moaning softly.

It was quiet for a time after that. Mitchell only heard their fast breathing and Anders’ quick heartbeat, slowing down as the minutes progressed. It was Anders who moved first, straightening his back and extracting himself from his tall bed partner. He let himself fall onto his back, on the bed next to Mitchell, and closed his eyes. Another minute or so passed before Mitchell’s curiosity couldn’t be contained any longer.

“What are you?” He asked. He heard the reverence in his own voice but couldn’t be bothered to feel ashamed.

“A God.” Anders answered simply, eyes still closed.

Was that possible? He’d seen a multitude of supernatural creatures in his lifetime, so a God was not out of the realm of possibilities in his mind. And nothing or nobody had ever made him feel like this. He had only known Anders for a few hours, so he couldn’t really judge if he was lying about being a God or not. But if he listened to his gut feeling…

Anders chuckled at the prolonged silence. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
